


Just your everyday flu

by fanficloverme96



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Lily likes to tease the clan's baby, M/M, Saphael, Simon gets sick, sick!fic, somewhat fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 05:12:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7086751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanficloverme96/pseuds/fanficloverme96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Lily also said that she found out that the blood you so leisurely drank without checking beforehand is the blood of a person who died from the bird influenza outbreak.” </p>
<p>Simon blinks.</p>
<p>“What.” </p>
<p>or </p>
<p>that one time where Simon considers adopting the Cullen-esque vegetarian lifestyle and Raphael just cannot deal with the clan's baby's casual carelessness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just your everyday flu

So apparently, vampires can get sick.

* * *

 

*

Simon wakes up with the sensation of being stabbed repeatedly in the head.

He groans, eyes falling shut immediately after he opens them, the artificial light in his bedroom in the hotel seemingly too bright for him to bear. His body feels as if it is on fire, and there is that gnawing ache in his throat that refuses to go away.

He feels a bit like dying. Which is incredible ironic, since he is already dead.

“For the love of G-,” he chokes on the word, and rolls over face-first onto the pillow. His groans are muffled by the pillow as his head continues to pound.

“Lewis.”

Stan’s voice drifts into the room from the other side of the door. Simon nearly wants to ignore him.

“Yes, Stan?” he chooses to call out, instead, lifting his head from the pillow.

“Raphael wants to see you in his room.”

“What, now?”

“No, next year,” Stan deadpans, “Hurry up. He doesn’t like waiting.”

Yeah, well, Simon does not feel like getting up. But he does, anyway, wincing every now and then as he changes into something proper. He manages to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror before he leaves.

His eyes are bloodshot, as if he hasn’t fed in days.

Bloody hell.

* * *

 

*

“You look like crap, fledgling. What happened to you?” Raphael demands, as soon as Simon enters his room.

“Good evening to you, too, Raphael,” Simon answers dryly, “You look nice yourself.” He sighs when Raphael remains unamused.

“I’m fine,” he says, “Just feeling a little sick which is _weird_ , because do vampires even get sick? Because I’m pretty darn sure the dead can’t get sick since well, you’re _dead_.”

Raphael fixes him a hard stare, and he lightly sniffs the air. He wrinkles his nose almost immediately, and his expression twists into that of distaste.

“Good God, Simon. Whose blood did you feed on last night?” he asks, frowning.

Simon frowns back, confused. “Um. I drank from the blood bag from the supply like I usually do. I don’t drink from…” he winces, “from fresh sources.”

“Well, the blood smells disgusting. I can smell it even now. Did you drink any recently?”

Simon, who is pinching the bridge of his nose as he feels another onset of dizzy spells coming, struggles to think back. “I drank the last of the bag this morning. Before I got here,” he says.

“And it didn’t taste strange to you?” Raphael demands, crossing his arms.

“Raphael, I can barely smell anything, let alone _taste_. I didn’t even know vampires can even get the flu!” Simon throws up his hands, and immediately regrets the sudden movements when his head begins to pound once more. He collapses into the nearby sofa with a groan.

“No, but they can still get affected by the blood they drank from,” Raphael sighs, “You don’t have the flu. You’re just showing symptoms of it; aftereffects from the virus in the blood. Similarly, you’ll feel drunk if you drank from an alcoholic.”

“Are you saying…” Simon says slowly, “that I drank from a dead sick person?”

Raphael merely raises his eyebrow in response.

Simon looks up into the ceiling and sighs loudly, his throat still burning and itchy.

“I am going to be a vegetarian vampire, from now on, I swear,” he announces.

* * *

 

*

Lily is definitely not helping.

“Our baby got sick from drinking nasty blood,” she cooes every time other vampires poke their head into Simon’s bedroom in curiosity, “Poor baby.”

“Shut it, Lily,” Simon protests weakly, voice muffled by the pillow. Even though Raphael insists that the effects will only last for half a day, it feels like forever to Simon. He can’t remember the last time he felt this sick. His body just won’t stop burning. “Why do you guys even have contaminated blood, anyway?”

“In our defence, it was labelled. With a hazard sticker,” Lily points out, as she perches herself at the foot of his bed, “And think of it as good ol’ fun. You may never know which visiting clan might piss us off, next,” she grins, her fangs peeking from her lips.

“How are you still this childish after nearly a century?”

“Youth and mentality depends on ourselves, Lewis. I can choose to stay with a baby-like mind if I choose to, you know.”

Simon does not bother to reply. Instead, he buries his head further into the pillow, thinking that maybe if he suffocates to death, he could end his suffering.

“Vampires don’t need to breathe, Lewis.” Lily reminds cheerfully, as if reading his mind.

For the love of all things holy.

* * *

 

*

Simon does not realize he has fallen asleep until he feels something cool on his forehead, and when he registers the darkness that surrounds him, he realizes that his eyes are closed. He opens them slowly, and winces instantly at the artificial light that greets him. Instinctively, he drapes his arm over his eyes, and groans.

He hears someone muttering in Spanish. It sounds a bit like a curse, from what he guesses from the tone.

“Fledgling, you just brushed away the towel on your forehead.”

“Raphael?”

Simon lifts his arm away from his eyes, and is greeted by the sight of Raphael sitting at the foot of the bed, occupying Lily’s previous spot. The latter is nowhere to be seen. Raphael regards him with a bemused stare.

Simon stares back.

Raphael has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he is gripping a wet towel in one hand, and is that Simon’s imagination or is that a thermometer in Raphael’s other hand?

“What-,” he pauses, considering his next words, “Um, what are you doing here?”

“Lily told me it’s been more than half a day, and your symptoms are not receding,” Raphael replies, all the while wringing the wet towel dry in a small bucket. The image is kind of funny, seeing the vampire doing something so mundane. “Simon, right now, you are equivalent to a very sick mundane.”

“No, _really_ ,” Simon deadpans, and coughs slightly, “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Raphael fixes him an unamused look. “Lily _also_ said that she found out that the blood you so leisurely drank without checking beforehand is the blood of a person who died from the bird influenza outbreak.”

Simon blinks.

“What.”

Raphael smirks. “The influenza eventually led the man to die from organ failure, if you want the specific details.”

“What.”

“It was supposed to be served to a visiting clan member next month; one we are not in close terms with,” Raphael explains breezily, ignoring Simon’s dumbfounded look. “I’m not particularly fond of childish pranks, but the others do. And I suppose I can let Lily have fun every once in a while.”

“Raphael.”

“Yes?”

“Are you telling me,” Simon says carefully, “That very soon, I might have a chance to experience what would it feel like to have organ failure?”

Fangs peek from the other vampire’s lips as he grins. “Maybe.”

Simon closes his eyes, and takes a deep, unnecessary breath.

“Vegetarian lifestyle from now on, I swear.”

* * *

 

*

When Simon wakes up (again), the room is significantly dimmer. The door is closed, and the curtains are drawn shut. He turns to his alarm clock on the bedside table, and his eyes could make out the hands landing on the number four and twelve.

It is four a.m., just a couple of hours away from sunrise.

He also realizes that he feels remarkably better. He thanks the deities above that _no_ , he did _not_ experience the feeling of organ failure that Raphael seemingly looked forward to. Or maybe he was asleep when it happened, and he is _dead_ to begin with, anyway, so it probably did not make much of difference.

“Go back to sleep, Simon.”

Simon blinks. And looks to his side.

Raphael is sitting on a chair beside his bed, his head buried in his arms on the mattress. His eyes are closed, with hair strands slightly covering them.

“Raph-,”

“It’s too late to wake up now, fledgling,” Raphael mutters softly, his voice slightly muffled. His eyes remain closed. “Enjoy your next twelve hours of sleep.”

Simon opens his mouth to speak, because there are millions of thoughts running through his head all at once, but most of them are centring on the fact that _Raphael is here asleep in his room like it is nothing_ , but he shuts it, and keeps mum. He notices the small bucket of water with a towel hung over its edge on his bedside table and briefly wonders if that is the same towel that is placed on his forehead earlier.

The one that Raphael used.

He thinks it is an odd image; Raphael taking care of him similarly like the way a mother would to her child. He wonders if it is possible and whether the whole ordeal is just a figment of his imagination. Or a dream in which he will probably wake up from and Raphael would insult him like he usually does.

But Simon could not help the warm feeling that spreads across his chest, and he fights a smile.

It is an odd image, sure, but it is definitely something comforting to think about.

Simon nestles back into his pillows and blankets, and wraps himself in Raphael’s scent which reminds him of the smell of the air right after it rained. He closes his eyes and sleeps.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I miss Saphael.


End file.
